Embracing Expiration
by Stonecreek
Summary: Death comes to us all. How they greet it defines a person. See how a Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Slytherin and Gryffindor each meet their demise and how house affiliation plays into the end of each.


**A.N. –** Sorry for the radio silence after my 15th anniversary salvo. The projects I have been working on since have all not met my expectations, so they have not yet been posted. Case in point – I was working on another HP idea and gave up in frustration, and then was blindsided by this little idea. Any input (in the form of reviews) would be greatly appreciated. I do not own Harry Potter; entities too numerous to list do. I do not profit monetarily from this work in any way.

 **Embracing Expiration**

 **1.**

Dying feels familiar to Myrtle Warren.

Like the rest of her time at Hogwarts, dying alone seemed fitting. Ostracized from the house of the witty for frivolous reasons, Myrtle took to her aloneness by necessity. When one had no friends to lend comfort or a place of refuge when things took a downturn, they quickly learned to become self-sufficient. While not there yet, Myrtle liked to think that she'd made the best of a bad situation.

Olive Hornby had crossed a line earlier, and Myrtle had gone to the loo, knowing she would not be bothered nor missed. Sitting in dejection in the cold edifice of the facilities, the sudden intrusion of a (male!) voice had her ire raised. Emerging to give the boy a piece of her mind, Myrtle Warren instead opened the door and was greeted with nothingness.

There was no boy. There was no noise. There was just…nothing. And Myrtle was alright with this. Her life at the boarding school, after all, had consisted of much of the same. What difference was the false pretense of having things versus the actuality of having them stripped away to expose what was really there? It all boiled down to the rotten hand that she'd been dealt.

Myrtle Warren was sorted into Ravenclaw for a reason. She knew she was dead, now. She knew she had a choice. However, unlike most she imagined in her position, the choice wasn't much of one at all. Move on, to the great unknown, or stay and continue on as she always had been? She'd pick the concrete answer every time. It was her way. It wasn't like her quality of "living" would depreciate much by haunting a disused bathroom stall. Myrtle Warren had become one with the solitude.

 **2.**

Dying is like nothing Cedric Diggory has ever known.

The sudden separation hurts. At first, it was just the uncomfortable pull of the out-of-nowhere portkey. Then the pull becomes so much greater and then it's over. Cedric is sure that death was supposed to feel nothing like this, but then again, he had no experience in the matter. He is acutely aware of the sudden lack of _anything_ , but the absence of his loved ones is keenly felt. Distantly, he's aware that he's missing the real action, and the influx of worry for Harry startles him only in that it took until now to manifest.

Like a true badger, Cedric feels loyalty to his former foe in the Triwizard Tournament. And with that thought infusing his being, he finds himself drawn to the dark graveyard. He arrives to a scene of horror – Harry and Voldemort, wands locked, looking worse for wear. He gapes that the supposedly vanquished Dark Lord is back before realizing why he's really there. He wants to offer support to Harry, but time, he can feel, is short. All he can request is that his family receives some closure by having his body returned. His first loyalty is to his blood. Harry is important, yes, but when he imagines the look of devastation on the faces of his parents, there is no more qualms.

Mission, done, Cedric fades back into the ether, to join those who made the same choice he had to. In whatever awaits him, he knowns, he will have earned a place and will be surrounded by others. He has to believe this, for it was what he was taught, and what keeps him going now. If this nothingness is all there is to death, the void inside will be fathomless. Cedric, if he had a head, would nod. He'd just have to work hard, then, to make that a reality.

 **3.**

To Vincent Crabbe, dying is just another thing in his life he can't control.

For a Slytherin, the feeling is galling. He's grown complacent in being seen as an underling to Draco Malfoy and inseparable with both him and Goyle. Crabbe is used to the lackluster marks he receives and the punishment that they entail. He's even resigned himself to following his father's less than illustrious path. But what he can't abide is the nagging doubt inside telling him that the Sorting Hat erred in his placement.

So Vincent decides to try to act the part. He could be ambitious and cunning – his devotion to learning dark curses under the Carrows meant that he was one of the few looked upon with favor and spared the Cruciatus by them. As the year wore on, his confidence grew, and the voice inside grew muted. When Potter and company broke in and brought a battle with them, he jumped at the chance to play his part.

It was only when the Fiendfyre left his wand that Crabbe realized that he was certainly not exemplifying one of the traits of his house – self-preservation. And with that, his confidence shattered and fear rushed in to replace it. The heat was overwhelmingly unbearable, and he soon succumbed to it. That he'd died, and in such a way, in truth did not surprise Vincent. What had him stunned was the malevolent cloud of dark magic making the journey with him.

If there was one thing he knew, it was that the name Vincent Crabbe did not appear on any ledger guarding any pearly gates. If he wanted to better his situation, he'd have to use leverage over this mysterious tag-along. When it came time for judgement, the aura of pure hatred emanating from the black cloud drew all the attention, and Vincent was left to slip free. Smiling, he at last felt confident in the silver and green.

 **4.**

When Harry Potter dies, the sense of unity takes him by surprise.

He knew that his death was imminent, and he had come to terms with all that it entailed. Harry also knew it was inevitable, and had not tried to fight it at all. He had the words from the shades the Resurrection Stone had provided to bear him through the admittedly traumatizing experience. The Gryffindor in him preens at the way he faced death head-on and with a stiff upper lip. It is what comes after that Harry is not prepared for.

The vast white expanse of featurelessness feels incredibly bleak and yet more comforting than any feeling he's experienced. True, a lot of his life had been filled with less than pleasant people and sensations, but this was on a whole other plane of bliss. If he was theologically inclined, he might think that this was the warm light of the divine filling him with love. Harry being Harry, he knew the love he was feeling was that of his parents.

That they weren't there at the moment was only slightly disheartening. That there was an ugly, fetid looking blob cowering under what looked like a bench was concerning. That the person greeting him after his passing was not Death but Dumbledore had Harry questioning the Gryffindor mentality of damning the consequences and charging forward. He felt mildly proud of himself for remaining civil during the conversation, reminding himself that his parents awaited when the words fell silent.

But then they didn't. Harry's mission was not yet at an end, and as much as he longed for the embrace of the only true family he'd ever had, there was still old Tom to finish off. And Harry hated himself for being swayed by the headmaster's (his? Death was a bit confusing) reasoning. But really, his instincts were screaming at him that this fight was his, and the consequences of it mattered very much. Whispering "we'll meet again" into the rapidly vanishing tableau of King's Cross, Harry closed his eyes and strode ahead, master of his own destiny at last.


End file.
